


The Ideal Cynic

by Engineer104



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Debate Team, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your biggest rivals are your best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ideal Cynic

**Author's Note:**

> Debate team AU
> 
> Also posting this without really thinking it through. I might regret this. . .

“Today’s debate topic:  democracy is the best form of government,” Levi, standing at the front of the classroom, said.  He glanced around at the assembled students, his face wearing the usual blank-but-angry expression.  He pointed to his right:  “This side will be arguing ‘yes’, and this side will be arguing ‘no’.”  He gestured to his left.  “Miss Ackerman, Miss Leonhart, you begin.”

The two girls nodded, then moved to the front of the class, each standing at a different podium.  It was almost comical, from where Jean was sitting, how Mikasa’s face and shoulders were easily visible over the podium, but only Annie’s face could be seen.

Both were brief, quickly stating their opinions for or against democracy.

Mikasa:  “It gives people the freedom to choose their leaders.”

Annie:  “The majority ends up oppressing the minority.”

Levi called time, and after they silently returned to their seats, he said, “Next, Mr. Jaeger with the case _for_ democracy, and Mr. Kirstein _against_.”

Jean shifted anxiously in his chair before standing up, and as he walked to the designated podium, he wiped his damp palms against his uniform slacks.  Arguing against Eren, a boy so well-spoken that he once managed to convince Dr. Zoe to _not_ give them homework the day before winter break, was always nerve-wracking, and Jean tended to get flustered and lose his focus when he was nervous.

“Two minutes each,” Levi reminded them, holding up the timer with a pointed look at Eren.

Eren grinned sheepishly, then immediately collected his features into seriousness as Levi clicked the timer so that it emitted a staccato _beep_.  He began, “Democracy is the best form of government because, as my teammate mentioned before, it gives people the right to choose who they want to run that government.”  He paused, glancing around the room, then continued, “Not only that, but the implicit strength in democracy is in not only electing our president and senators, but being able to influence their decisions through public opinion.  For example, if they want to win another election, they _have_ to do as their constituents want, or risk losing.”

Jean stared at his hands resting on the podium, smirking slightly to himself as an argument formed in his head.

“The beauty of a democracy is in its ability to represent a wide range of people, rather than just the rich, minority rulers that are often out only for themselves.”  Eren grinned at the other club members, even shooting Jean a glance.  “We can be assured that we’ll have representation in government, because even if we don’t get what we want, we ought to have at least one out of the 535 members of Congress that we can sway with our opinions.  Furthermore”--

“Time,” Levi interrupted from his desk.  “Mr. Kirstein, your rebuttal please.”

Jean cleared his throat, then said, “That’s all very well, but my opponent seems to have forgotten p-p-political parties.”  He coughed, suddenly self-conscious about the stutter, disliking the feeling of everyone’s eyes fixed on his face.  He stared down as he tried to continue, “Also, it should be noted that in the United States House of Representatives, most incumbents win their elections, so in the face of that statistic, it doesn’t matter how well the government performs.”

_Wait Jean, what_ about _political parties?_

“From my previous statement, parties shouldn’t form in non-democratic governments; well, that’s great, right?  We can pick a group that represents what we think.  Except, well, not really.”  He inhaled, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, trying to ignore Eren’s piercing gaze on his face.  “Most people in the U.S., and probably France and the U.K. and others too, vote along party lines.  A Republican votes for a Republican, a Democrat votes for a Democrat, and so on.  When it’s election time, you have to convince the small proportion of independents, not the people in your party, who are voting for you anyway, or the people in the other party, who wouldn’t elect you even if you paid them.  Well, probably.”

“Time,” Levi muttered again.  “You’ve improved, Kirstein, but you need to look up more.”

Jean nodded in acknowledgement while the rest of the class tittered.

“That was actually a coherent argument today,” Eren mumbled from beside him.  “Good job, Jean.”

He turned his head to look at the other boy, prepared to shout a retort, until he realized that he was receiving a compliment.  “Uh, thanks,” he responded quietly.

* * *

 

“You really believe everything you said yesterday, don’t you?”

Jean looked up from his lunch at the sound of an intrusive voice, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Eren.  “I, uh, yeah,” he admitted.

“So what would you suggest?” Eren wondered as he dropped his lunch tray on the table and took a seat across from Jean.  He tilted his head to the side, looking like a confused puppy.

He shrugged.  “I don’t think anything really works,” he confessed.

“Anarchy?” Eren suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Jean watched the dark-haired boy spread ketchup on a hamburger bun, unconsciously wrinkling his nose in disgust.  But he shook his head in response to his prompt.

“I mean, communism actually works in small nations,” Eren said reasonably once he was satisfied with the amount of ketchup on his sandwich, “but it’s detrimental and oppressive in others.  The Soviet Union didn’t last too long.”  He took a huge bite, chewed quickly, then swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably.

Jean, utterly confused by not only having someone sitting with him that wasn’t Marco (who had a different lunch period) but also by that someone being _Eren_ , simply gaped at him.

“Wasn’t Rome a democracy before the Caesar debacle anyway?” Eren continued, tone rhetorical.  He stuffed a ketchup-soaked potato wedge into his mouth, then, when he saw Jean cringe, he asked, “Why aren’t you eating?”

Jean glanced at his own half-eaten hamburger, quite plain with nothing but mustard and stringy lettuce.  “Your conversation is exhausting,” he told Eren truthfully, “and I don’t know why you’re sitting with me.”

Eren shrugged.  “I’d sit with Mikasa and Armin, but they have a different lunch.”

“Same boat,” Jean admitted.

“Usually, I eat with Sasha and Connie, but they started dating and I now feel like even more of a third wheel than usual with them.”  He waved in their direction, Jean following the motion to where a tall brunette and a short bald kid sat practically glued at the hip.  Then he added, “Besides, Sasha always eats like she’s starving, and it’s kind of nauseating to watch.”

Jean rolled his eyes, irritated at the irony.  “I hate ketchup,” he informed Eren.

“Oh, my eating habits made you lose your appetite?”  Eren waved a red packet in Jean’s face, smirking when the other slapped it out of his hand.  “That bad, huh?”

“I’m going to suggest a topic to Levi,” Jean said, completely seriously, “and it’ll be ketchup versus mustard.”

“No fucking way, Jean,” Eren argued.  “Mustard is fucking _nasty_.”

“This is why we’re not friends,” Jean muttered, half to himself while he crossed his arms.

“Oh my God, that’s not why,” Eren grumbled, complete with an eye-roll.  “We’re not friends because you’re a cynical asshole.”

“And you’re an unrealistic bastard and probably suicidal,” Jean retorted irritably.

“I’m _idealistic_ and _optimistic_ , not _unrealistic_ ,” Eren corrected.  “There’s a difference.”

“Too many – _istics_ in one sentence,” he complained, but he couldn’t help smiling slightly.

* * *

 

Jean swore he always had the worst luck with lab partners.

Typically, Dr. Zoe passed around a stupid feathered hat to choose partners by lottery, and typically, he got stuck with balls of energy or people who just. . . weren’t good at chemistry.

This time, when he saw the name on the slip of paper in his hand, he scowled and promptly gathered his belongings with a sigh.  He crossed the classroom and joined his partner at their lab bench.

“Hi,” he muttered to Eren.

“Oh, hi Jean,” the dark-haired boy replied, flashing him a grin.

He was taken aback by the friendliness in Eren’s green-eyed gaze, wondering if their conversation at lunch a few days ago had changed anything, but he simply rolled his eyes.  And then he remembered that Eren was actually _good_ at chemistry, so maybe this class period wouldn’t be so terrible.

Apparently that talent didn’t extend to labs, as Eren broke a flask and spilled the class’s entire bottle of acetic acid, which solidified Jean’s opinion of him as a _clumsy_ bastard.

Dr. Zoe buzzed around the classroom, muttering faked numbers to their students while assuring everyone that yes, this was shitty lab practice, but what could you do when uncoordinated, silver-tongued Eren Jaeger knocked down the focal point of the experiment?

“We could’ve just replaced it with vinegar,” Eren mumbled to Jean after their teacher gaze them their fake yield.  “There’s acetic acid in vinegar,” he added at the confused expression on Jean’s face, a slight smirk twisting his lips.

“Uh, right,” he replied, blushing at his ignorance.  When he caught Eren’s eye (and noticed they were twinkling), he felt his face redden even more.  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.

Eren, smirk widening, punched his shoulder and said, “Wow, you must get wicked sunburn during the summer.”

“Shut the fuck up, Eren,” Jean retorted eloquently while indignantly rubbing where Eren’s fist connected.

Naturally, the next debate topic was whether or not the school should provide sunscreen to students during outdoor activities.  And naturally, Eren used Jean’s fair skin as an example for the affirmative.

* * *

 

“Why is Eren so friendly to me?”

Armin glanced up from his calculus textbook at Jean.  “Because he doesn’t hate you?” he said, tone perplexed, presumably by the question.

Jean, standing across the table from him, frowned.  “He doesn’t?” he asked, surprised.

“Eren is very selective in his hatred,” Armin informed him with a slight smile.  “He wouldn’t waste it on you.”

“I’m really not sure if I should be offended by your phrasing,” Jean deadpanned, “or relieved that he doesn’t hate me.”

“Be relieved,” the straw-haired boy told the ash-headed.  “If Eren despises someone, it becomes detrimental to their health.”

* * *

 

Jean ran Armin’s words through his head over and over, unsure what he meant by them.  _Detrimental to their health?  What does that even mean?_

He soon got half of an answer.

“Convicted murderers should receive capital punishment.”

Jean clenched his hands into fists, not envying the pair that had to argue _this_. . .

“Mr. Jaeger, you will be pro,” Levi announced.

_Fuck me._ Their debate teacher always followed the same pattern, always and without fail, so it came as no surprise when he continued, “Mr. Kirstein will be con.”

Jean sighed but stood up anyway, slowly walking to the front of the room.  The problem with this (somewhat clichéd) topic was that your arguments might sound contrived, and whoever was listening would potentially think you’re either a murderer-sympathizer dumbass or an inhumane asshole.

Jean had no clue where he stood on the topic in real life, but he’d have to think of a rebuttal once Eren begun.  And how could Eren, the most idealistic person he’d ever met, argue _for_ something that destroyed compassion?

Quite easily.

He watched his opponent speaking, his words blurring together with the speed of his voice, how his eyes sparked furiously, one hand tightly gripping the edge of his podium while the other gestured erratically.  As Jean watched, he could’ve sworn, too, that Eren trembled, ever so slightly.

An angry Eren Jaeger was a force of nature.

So transfixed was Jean that he didn’t hear Eren’s closing remarks, or Levi muttering, “Time.”

“Uh, Jean?”

He jumped, realized he was staring blankly at Eren, who had been the one to utter his name with a question on his face, and quickly turned his head to face everyone assembled again.  He sincerely hoped his face wasn’t red, but he doubted if the source of a blush would be embarrassment.

"Are you prepared for a rebuttal, Kirstein?” Levi wondered.

Jean nodded, even as he mentally floundered for the words he wanted, ready to comment on Eren’s passionate argument. . .  But what did he even _say_?  Something about the value of human life and permanently punishing those that devalued it?  Its presence being a deterrent to other potential criminals?

“Capital punishment should not be the be all, end all solution to preventing random murders and emptying overcrowded prisons,” Jean began hesitantly, hoping it didn’t sound too contrived.  He strained to remember what Eren had said, but all he could recall was how he _sounded_. . .

The rest of his two-minute time period passed in an anxious muddle, and when Levi asked him to return to his seat, he had no idea what he argued.  It didn’t help that Eren flashed him a sympathetic smile and prodded him in the shoulder on the way back to their chairs.

“Are you okay, Jean?” Eren muttered to him once they were sitting.

“Fine,” Jean replied just as quietly.

“You sure?  You seemed to zone out during the debate.”

He was shocked by the genuine concern in the dark-haired boy’s voice, and it probably showed on his face, since Eren laughed softly, but he told him, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Everyone else’s debates passed without incident, and Levi rounded out the meeting with a short lecture on logical fallacies and how to avoid them during an argument.  He emphasized that the judges would be keeping an ear out for _those_ in particular at their upcoming competition.

Jean approached Levi shortly after he dismissed them.

“What is it, Kirstein?” the teacher wondered without looking up from the essays he was grading.

“I was wondering,” Jean began hesitantly, “why you always pit me against Eren?  Everyone else gets to practice against other people, and that seems better since now, I have Eren’s arguing style practically _memorized_ ”—

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Levi interrupted, flicking his gray eyes up to scrutinize Jean as he crossed out an entire paragraph with red ink.

“I don’t understand how that’s a stupid question,” Jean told him petulantly.

“Eren is the most challenging opponent you could ever hope to face,” Levi explained, setting down his pen with a muttered, _“These freshmen brats are idiots.”_   To Jean, he continued, “Every time you debate Eren, you improve.  When you first started in September, you were a shitty debater.”  When the student scowled, the teacher held up his hand to keep him from arguing.  “You simply said things; you never _explained_ them or tried to _prove_ them.  You were as wooden as the freshmen, especially when you argued against someone as dispassionate as Annie.  But the first time I set you up against Eren, something sparked.  You didn’t ramble as much, and you even seemed more convinced with your words.  Now, you sometimes hiccup – like today – but you’re almost as good as him.”  Levi smiled, ever so slightly.

Jean, mildly satisfied with and surprised at that answer, inquired, “What about Eren?”

“What _about_ Eren?”

“Doesn’t _he_ need practice?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Kirstein, you have become quite the challenge yourself.”

* * *

 

Eren’s transformation during the capital punishment debate tormented Jean for longer than he cared to admit, even to himself.  It didn’t help that Eren now sought him out during lunch more often than not.

Most of the time their conversations kept to ordinary topics, like parents (Eren complained about his dad _a lot_ ; apparently having Dr. Dad pressuring him to go into med school was stressful), friends (Eren spoke fondly of Mikasa and Armin as well as third-wheeling Connie and Sasha; Jean, basically a loner, only mentioned Marco), movies and TV shows (Eren liked action movies, Jean liked suspense, and they both testified to hating romantic comedies), and school ( _especially_ chemistry, the one class they had in common).  Other times, they drifted towards more serious matters.

“Where are you applying to college?” Eren asked Jean once.

Jean, while absentmindedly twirling questionable spaghetti around his spork, shrugged.

“Come on, you _gotta_ know,” Eren insisted.  “We start applying in a few months.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jean groaned.

Eren reached across the table and gripped his arm.  “I want to go to TU,” he declared with a grin, “but I’ll probably apply to UShig too.”

“I might go for TU too,” Jean told him hesitantly, glaring at Eren’s hand until he withdrew it.

“You should,” Eren said encouragingly.  “You’re a smart guy.”

“My chemistry tests beg to differ.”  He scowled; that last test on ideal gases – a topic that most actually considered _easy_ – would definitely leave a scar.

“I’ve already offered to tutor you,” Eren pointed out.

“And I’ve already said _no_.”

“Your loss.”  He rolled his eyes and took a massive swig of chocolate milk.

Jean, eager to get off of the topic of college and chemistry tests, decided to prod, “So that debate last week.”

“What about it?” Eren said, tone wary immediately.

“You surprised me.”

Eren raised an eyebrow.  “Oh yeah?”  He stabbed his spaghetti with his spork.

Jean, sensing his agitation but unwilling to back down, replied, “Yeah.  I expected you to wish you were arguing what _I_ had to argue.”

“So what’s your point?”

From Eren’s continued glower, Jean knew he should let it go, but his curiosity (see:  nosiness) refused to be contained:  “Your usual idealism is kind of the antithesis to your argument last week.”

Eren’s face went blank as he blinked at him.  “What?”

Jean looked back.  “Huh?”

He shook his head.  “Never mind, took me minute to get what you meant.”  And with that, his scowl returned.  “You want to know why, don’t you?”

Jean nodded.

“It’s none of your damn business,” he said immediately.

“Why not?” Jean argued, annoyed.  “I’m the one that had to fight you, I’m the one that had to”—  He cut himself off, but finished the sentence in his head:  _I’m the one that was utterly captivated by you._

“You had to what?” Eren prompted.

Jean nervously ran his fingers through his hair while the unbidden thought continued to echo.  “Nothing,” he said quietly, barely acknowledging the hypocrisy in his statement even as Eren once more raised skeptical eyebrows at him.  He stood up, grabbed his tray, and started to walk around the table.  “I’m going to the bathroom,” he shot over his shoulder.  “See you tomorrow.”

Eren stood too, following him.  Once they were beside the trash cans, he put a hand on Jean’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes slightly downcast.

“Why?”

He smiled ruefully.  “I just am?”

“It’s not worth anything if you don’t know _why_ ,” Jean scoffed irritably.

“Okay, I’m sorry because you’re always on the receiving end of my arguments during debate.”

“Arrogant ass,” Jean grumbled while Eren laughed.

* * *

 

“I think Eren Jaeger likes you.”

It was an off-handed comment, something that could sound innocent and meaningless if it hadn’t been so sudden, if it didn’t make Jean’s heart thump painfully in his chest and palms grow damp with nervous sweat, and _especially_ if it hadn’t come from Marco, one of the most rational people he knew.

But Jean, unlike the honest loser he usually was, the one that desperately wanted to beg for details, attempted to play it off, saying, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”  Marco peered at him from his spot against the neighboring locker, appraising Jean as he stuffed his chemistry textbook into his backpack.

“Why do you say that?” Jean wondered, grateful that the locker door hid his hot face.

“He talks to you a lot.”

“ _You_ talk to me a lot,” Jean pointed out, hoping that he was imagining the tremor in his voice.

“Yeah, but we’ve been friends for ages,” Marco pointed out reasonably.  “Eren _just_ started talking to you.  Besides, I’ve noticed he’s a little _touchy feely_.”

“He only pats me on the shoulder sometimes,” Jean mumbled, a wave of embarrassment washing over him at the confirmation that he _hadn’t_ imagined that.  Sure, the gesture had started off as mock punches until it had progressed, more recently, to something almost. . . affectionate.

“You’re just worried that you feel the same way about him,” Marco said sagely.

“No, I’m not,” he argued immediately, slamming his locker shut and subsequently flinching at the echo.  Lamely, and in case it wasn’t clear, he added, “Sure, he’s all right, but I definitely don’t like him like _that_.”

Marco rolled his eyes and accused, “Jean, you’re a shitty liar.”

* * *

 

The next debate team practice, the one _immediately_ before the state competition, was a disaster.

At least, it was for Jean.

Mikasa and Annie were in top form, their typically detached answers reshaping into something far more enthusiastic, and while Armin stuttered slightly while arguing against Annie, both he and the remarkably timid Bertolt (whom Jean suspected was only on the team because of his crush on Annie) were far more eloquent and convincing than usual.

But Jean, with Marco’s words echoing through his head as he more and more obsessively analyzed Eren’s actions towards him, was extremely distracted while he faced off against – you guessed it – Eren.

“For Jaeger and Kirstein,” Levi said from his perch on the desk, “the Constitution should be amended so that presidents have six-year terms.”

Eren dove in immediately, a rather maniacal – and utterly attractive, between his bright green eyes and messy dark hair – grin on his face.  “The four-year terms don’t allow for much change to be enacted, since on either side is a very close election.  Also, four years is not long enough to assess how effective a president even _is_.”  He paused for a second, glancing around at the four seated team members, and continued, “If a president doesn’t worry about being reelected, they won’t care so much about public approval and can really work on making effective improvements.”

Jean tuned out the rest of Eren’s argument, unable to keep his eyes from wandering down Eren’s jawline, to his throat, where his Adam’s apple was bobbing along with his words, to the collar of his shirt, where he could see his clavicle poking at his tan skin.  _Damn you, Marco; damn you, Eren._   He sighed heavily. . .

. . .and inadvertently drew everyone’s attention to him.

“Something wrong, Kirstein?” Levi asked him, raising a black eyebrow.

“Uh, no,” Jean lied.

“You sure?” Armin inquired, blue eyes wide with worry.

“Well, that was a lovesick sigh if there ever was one,” Eren mocked – or maybe teased –   from beside him.  He examined Jean from his periphery.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, scowling down at his hands resting on the podium and hoping beyond hope that his face wasn’t red.

If Eren’s smirk was any indication, such a hope was in vain.

“In any case,” Levi said, as if nothing earthshattering had happened – which Jean supposed was true – “Jaeger’s time was up.  Kirstein, what’s your rebuttal?”

“Um, uh,” Jean said, gaping as Levi started his time.  He shot a glance at Eren, who, smirk wiped off of his face, nodded encouragingly at him.  Uplifted slightly, he began, “If we had six-year terms, we would’ve been stuck with a dumbass like Reiss for twelve years instead of just eight.”

The room filled with giggles, and even Levi cracked a slight grin, although he shook his head disapprovingly.

“With regard to that, uh, we have the opportunity to boot politicians whose policies we don’t like out of office sooner rather than later, especially if their campaign promises ended up being bullshit.”

“Kirstein. . .” Levi scolded mildly.  “Language.”

Jean, unable to really _ignore_ Eren’s gaze on him, chose to ignore Levi instead as he plowed on, “Sometimes, people lie, especially when their success hinges on fucking lying.  Think about it:  if we all told the truth all the time, would we really be better off?  When a candidate says that they’ll end world hunger or cut the military budget or some shit like that, we believe them because we want to, not because we think they’ll actually do that.  And if they avoid those questions entirely?  Isn’t omitting the truth lying as well?”

“Time,” Levi called.

“You only gave me ninety seconds!” Jean accused.

“I think you’ve made your point,” Levi commented, managing to sound even more unimpressed than usual.  “I hope for your teammates’ sake that you get your shit together before Saturday.  And do some teambuilding exercises with Eren or something; I’m beginning to regret not putting our best debaters on the same side at least once.”

* * *

 

Jean walked to the public library after the meeting, alone since he turned down Marco’s offer to accompany him.  He felt like shit, especially after making a fool of himself during the mock debate, and he preferred to do so without his friend’s presence.

But fate was not on his side.

“So what happened to you today?” Eren demanded.

Jean groaned as he looked up from his chemistry homework, half-glad of the excuse to pause in his stoichiometry, half-regretful that _Eren_ was the excuse.  “Nothing, I was fine.”

“Nah, you sounded pissed, and not at our great ex-president,” Eren decided.

Jean rolled his eyes, then, unable to help himself because he was a piece of shit sometimes, muttered, “Once a president, always a president.”

“Reiss isn’t the fucking king of Narnia,” Eren retorted.

Jean laughed, then immediately glowered unseeingly at his notes, denying himself amusement.  He knew he was pissed at Eren, pissed at him for not telling him why he – normally so _idealistic_ – wanted murderers put to death (although he acknowledged it was really none of his business, he still wanted to know), pissed at him for not confessing any romantic feelings, pissed at him because Marco was probably mistaken and he didn’t _have_ those feelings, pissed at him because Jean _definitely_ had those feelings for Eren. . .  Really, there was a whole list, and it was all unreasonable, which infuriated Jean even more.

“You’re doing that problem wrong,” Eren then commented, interrupting Jean’s train of thought.

“Huh?”

“That problem,” he repeated, tapping the offending work with his fingertip.  “Oxygen is diatomic, so its molar mass is 32, not 16.”

“Oh, uh, right,” Jean said, looking down and seeing his mistake.  He crossed out the 16 and wrote “32” over it, regretting doing his homework in pen.  Then, he added quietly, “I’m sorry.”

He could practically _feel_ the shock in Eren’s voice when he said, “Wow, I can’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You _apologized_.”

“So?” Jean said mutinously, glancing at Eren’s face.

“Quick, say it again!” Eren commanded with a smirk, leaning forward and clutching his shoulder.

Jean shrugged his hand off, ignoring the goosebumps the gesture incited.  “No, once is plenty,” he said.  “Besides, I have homework.”

“I can help you,” Eren offered.  “If you have one stupid mistake, there are probably others.”

“Go away.”

“I don’t think I will,” Eren insisted.

Jean jumped when Eren’s shoe made contact with his foot.  Was he playing _footsie_ with him?  He was inexperienced, yeah, but he knew such blatant flirting when he saw – or felt – it.  Which is why he rolled his eyes at the other boy, but nodded.  “Fine, stay, but you have to buy me ice cream later,” he added courageously, allowing a bit of teasing to enter his voice.

“Deal,” Eren agreed with a grin.

Jean returned it, then flipped his paper around so that he could look over his work.

They spent the next hour like that, Eren commenting on his mistakes and Jean fixing them.  He was usually a good student, but something in Eren’s teaching style riled him up.

“Carbonate is C-O-3-2-minus, dumbass,” Eren grumbled at his fifth mistake.  “We learned polyatomic ions last _October_.”

“Which means it’s been a really long time,” Jean retorted irritably while he wrote the correct formula over the wrong one.

At long last, Eren was satisfied with his work and, after nodding his approval, stood up and waited for Jean to gather his belongings.  Then, they departed the library together.

“So, ice cream now or some other time?” Eren wondered, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jean smiled, feeling shy all of a sudden.  “Now?” he said.

Eren chuckled.  “My mom’s gonna kill me,” he commented, pulling his car keys out of his pocket.

They drove to a nearby Dairy Queen.  Jean ordered a chocolate-dipped cone and Eren bought an Oreo Blizzard.  As he paid for both of their treats, the cashier, a tall girl with freckles, quirked an eyebrow at them.  “You guys on a date?” she inquired.  Then, she seemed to notice their school uniforms and her eyes widened.  “On a _weeknight_?  Have you no shame?”  She then snickered while she handed Eren the receipt.

“No,” Eren told her nonchalantly without specifying which of her queries he was answering.

Jean, however, turned his face so that neither of them could see the blush that was undoubtedly coloring his cheeks.

They sat outside, enjoying the cool evening air, silent for a few moments while Eren texted his mother to tell her where he was.  Then, Jean commented, “You’re a really safe driver.”

Eren smiled a little distantly.  “I try,” he agreed.  “My mom got in a pretty bad accident when I was ten.”

“Oh,” Jean said, not really sure how to comment, although he added, “I failed my test the first time I took it.”

“Oh yeah?  You passed the second?”

Jean grinned sheepishly at the ground.  “I haven’t taken it a second time yet,” he admitted.

“Well, get on it, because if you’re not careful, I’ll leave you stranded someplace,” Eren joked.

“You wouldn’t dare.”  He didn’t comment on the implication that they might go somewhere else together – possibly alone.

“You never know.”  He fell silent, glancing at his phone for his mother’s reply, so Jean took the opportunity to stick his finger in the other’s ice cream, and then lick it.  He gagged.

Eren looked up at him.  “What happened?”

“I think your Blizzard just gave me diabetes,” Jean complained.

The dark-haired boy glanced at his ice cream, then at Jean.  He laughed.  “I’ll remember that in case I never want to share with you.”

Jean’s pulse seemed to speed up at those words.  When Eren next scrutinized him, he felt himself flush all over again.  “What?” he said.

He pointed to his own nose.  “You have a bit of chocolate there,” he observed.

“I, uh, oh,” Jean said, half-expecting Eren to wipe it off for him, and a little disappointed when he simply handed him a napkin.

“This is probably the point of the day where we have a heart-to-heart,” Eren commented next.

Jean shot a glance at him, surprised at his words.  “You think so?”

Eren nodded, expression deathly serious.  “Remember when you asked me why I think murderers should die?”

Jean shrugged, suspicious suddenly that this conversation was more misleading than it seemed.

“Well, I once, uh, beat up a murderer,” he confessed.

He gaped at him, shocked more by the uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice than by the confession itself, and then remembered Armin’s words about Eren’s hatred being detrimental to one’s health.  “What?” he said.

“A few years ago, someone broke into the Ackermans’ house and killed Mikasa’s parents,” Eren explained.  “He was about to kill Mikasa too, but I was over at the time, and, uh, I lost it.”  He smiled humorlessly.  “I don’t know why they broke in, or anything.”  At Jean’s continued disbelief, he added, “Mikasa fought too.  It was definitely a team effort.”

“I’m sure,” Jean scoffed.

“All right, fine, she did _most_ of the work, but _I_ called the police.”

“That makes a hell of a lot more sense,” Jean told him.

Eren knocked his shoulder against Jean’s, and, for once, he pushed back.

“Did you know that in Sharia law, murderers can get stoned to death?” Eren continued.

"What’s Sharia?”

“Don’t be an ignorant asshole,” Eren complained, rolling his eyes.  “It’s Islamic law.  My grandparents are Muslims, and Turkish.  I think my grandpa is old enough to remember the Ottoman Empire.”

“That’s insane,” Jean said with a slight laugh.

“What, that my grandpa is so old, or that murderers get stoned?”

“I don’t know, both?”

Eren’s shoulders twitched up in a shrug.  “If they deserve it, why not.”  Then, he glanced at Jean, expression, if possible, even more serious.  “All right, I told you something; now you have to tell me something.”

“Like what?” Jean wondered warily, polishing off his ice cream.

Eren licked his spoon thoughtfully, a motion that was gross and arousing at the same time, and decided, “Why were you so pissed off during the meeting?”

“Fuck, Eren, _anything_ but that,” he whined, rubbing his face with sticky hands.

“Nope, I’m not rescinding my question,” Eren insisted, prodding his arm.  “You’re the one that said omitting the truth is the same as lying.”

“I knew I’d regret those words,” Jean muttered to himself.

“Yeah, well, tell me,” he pressed, deftly tossing his empty cup into a trashcan so close, Jean would’ve been shocked if he _had_ missed.

“Ugh, fine,” he grumbled, running his fingers through his hair and contemplating what to say.  “I, uh, well, Marco thinks someone _likes_ me.”

“And do they?” Eren wondered, focusing his undivided attention on Jean.

Feeling particularly flattered by the gesture, he admitted, “I don’t know.  They haven’t said anything and, um, they’re kind of hard to read.  Or maybe I’m just really fucking dense.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eren commented, so quietly that he seemed to be talking to himself.  Louder and more directly, he inquired, “Do _you_ like _them_?”

Jean grimaced, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart, thinking how _awful_ it would be if Eren heard it and remarked on it, then he realized that he wished Eren _could_ hear it, or better yet _feel_ it. . .  “Yeah, I do,” he finally told him, glancing at his palms.

“You should tell them,” Eren encouraged.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Jean confessed.  “I’d like to be sure that the feeling’s mutual, you know?”

Eren laughed a little wryly.  “Trust me, Jean; I _know_.”

* * *

 

The last days before the debate were a whirl of moments blurring together.

Connie was his lab partner in chemistry, which was fine because he wasn’t as clumsy as Eren, but it also sucked because he wasn’t helpful at all when it came to the post-lab calculations.

Levi assigned him (and presumably the rest of the debate team) an extra reading in preparation for the competition on Saturday, which meant Jean was forced to stay up two hours more to finish it in time, along with his homework.

He did calculus homework with Armin in the library during their free period, and Jean was _so_ tempted to ask him about Eren that he was considering taping his mouth shut to prevent the inquiry from slipping out.

He avoided Eren during lunch altogether, and from the few times they made eye contact during chemistry or in the hallway, he could tell the other boy was confused by his actions.

Eren probably thought that Jean regretted being so open with him during their ice cream not-date.

Well, he didn’t.  Okay, maybe he regretted it _a little_ , but the fact that he all but confessed his definitely-romantic feelings made him want to postpone an actual interaction as long as possible in case Eren managed to piece the clues together.

Jean Kirstein:  shot through the heart with Cupid’s arrow, in Levi’s classroom (approximately), by Mr. Green(eyes).

He also tried not to consider the fact that Eren might, as Marco insisted once more, return those same feelings, because if he started to believe it, he didn’t want to be force fed crushing disappointment in case his friend was wrong.

Of course, he never thought that Mikasa would be the one to break him out of his stupor.

She cornered him immediately after school on Friday, when she slipped between him and his locker, preventing him from opening it.  And she got straight to the point:

“You’re avoiding Eren.”

Jean blinked at her, shocked by her interference and by her lack of questioning, and although he was a fucking truth-teller at heart, his first impulse was to deny it by wondering, “Why do you think that?”

“Eren’s moping,” she admitted flatly.

“So?”  And yet, for all his pretend nonchalance, a selfish part of him was glad that Eren was suffering (although perhaps that was too strong a word?) thanks to his inattention.

“ _So_ I want him to be happy,” Mikasa retorted.  “ _So_ he’s usually a _lot_ more energetic before a competition.  _So_ I think he actually misses y”—

“I get the point,” Jean interrupted, icy shame dousing his chest.

“Talk to him,” Mikasa suggested, “and make sure it’s _before_ the competition, because you and he are the best we have, _and_ you’re supposed to be a team.  If you don’t sort out your issues beforehand, you’ll lose the debate.”

“I didn’t think you cared about winning so much,” Jean observed.

“I want to win,” she said with a slight shrug, “and so does Eren.  I imagine you do too.”  Then, without another word, and without so much as a backwards glance, she stalked away from him.

Jean stared at her retreating back, watching the end of her uniform-violating scarf swish against her shoulder blades.  He then returned his attention to his locker, struggling to recall the combination amidst the confused Erens in his head.

* * *

 

Even though Mikasa’s words reverberated in his head, Jean sat as far away from Eren as possible the next morning, which didn’t put much distance between them considering they were confined to the interior of Levi’s SUV for an hour.

Jean sat in the back seat, with Armin’s arm inadvertently digging into his ribs while Mikasa continuously glowered at him from the middle row, where she sat beside Eren, who studiously faced forward.  He couldn’t help but wonder what was going through the other boy’s head.

Jean’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and, with some casualty to Armin’s side courtesy of his elbow, he pulled it out to see a text message from Mikasa.

_"BEFORE the competition.”_

He groaned as he slipped it back, mumbling an apology to the boy seated beside him.

When Levi pulled into the host school’s parking lot, everyone quickly clambered out of the car.  Jean glanced around, eyeing his teammates:  Bertolt stretching his long limbs, Annie standing beside him and staring at the ground, Armin pushing his blonde hair behind his ears, Mikasa standing with her arms crossed, and Eren leaning against her with fists clenched at his sides.

He made eye contact with Jean, straightening his posture and frowning slightly.  He looked tired, eyelids drooping, from lack of sleep or lack of caffeine Jean didn’t know.

Jean fought the impulse to look away and instead smiled a bit, relief immediately flooding over him when Eren returned it.  “Hi,” he muttered.

“Hey,” Eren replied.

Mikasa tactfully nodded a greeting to Jean, then not-so-tactfully wandered away towards where Levi was talking to another school’s teacher.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but then Eren interrupted with his own:  “I’m sorry.  I probably shouldn’t have forced you to talk about, um, _that_ a few days ago.”

Jean blinked at him, shocked, because even more rare than him apologizing was Eren admitting he was wrong about something.  “It’s, uh, it’s fine,” he told him quickly.  “I shouldn’t have avoided you because of it.”

Eren, his sobriety falling away as quickly as Mikasa’s presence, grinned.  “So you want to tell me who”—

“No,” Jean said immediately, pleased by the lack of a blush on his skin.

“Oh, that should’ve been obvious, right?” Eren said, his grin turning sheepish.  He gripped Jean’s shoulder tightly.  “Feel free to talk to me though, okay?  About anything, even.  Like, if your pet guinea pig dies, I’ll give you a shoulder to cry on.”

Jean raised an eyebrow at him.  “I don’t have a pet guinea pig,” he said, pinching his thigh to prevent himself from grabbing and holding the hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just an example, dumbass,” Eren retorted, rolling his eyes, somehow managing to keep eye contact in the process.

Jean broke it, suddenly a little shy, and stared at his feet, positioned just a few inches away from Eren’s.  “So we’re a team again?” he inquired quietly.

“Fuck yeah,” Eren replied, finally removing his hand from the taller boy’s shoulder.  “I mean, we never were _not_ on a team, unless you count the practice debates. . .  Say, why the hell did Levi always have us argue _against_ each other?”

“Something about challenging us,” Jean told him, right as Levi approached his students.  He whispered to Eren, “Speak of the devil.”

Eren snickered while Levi began, “The competition is in the auditorium, but we’ll be staying in a classroom until then, at 10:30.  Afterwards, we’ll return to that same room until the awards ceremony at four.  I expect that you’ll perform your best.”  Then, without so much as an encouraging smile, he headed inside the school, waving for his students to follow him.

The classroom (math if the posters on the walls were any indication) was just a hall away from the auditorium.  It was remarkably cluttered, so Jean sat at the very back, away from where almost everyone else was clustered.  He watched Eren, Armin, and Mikasa play hangman, borrowing the math teacher’s whiteboard and markers.

“Category is mythology,” Armin said, writing it on the board while he drew the gallows and five blank spaces.

“Zeus,” Eren said immediately.

“That’s only four letters,” Mikasa pointed out while Jean covered his mouth to muffle a snicker.  “A?”

Armin wrote an A in the fourth space.

“E?” Eren wondered.

A head appeared in the noose.

“Shit,” Eren hissed.

“I?” Jean called from the back, smirking at Eren, who scowled at him when Armin wrote I in the second space.

“You’re not even playing with us,” he complained.

“I am now,” Jean retorted, unable to keep a bit of affection out of his voice.

When Jean was the one to get the word (“titan”), Eren huffed and left his other friends to flop into the seat beside him.  “Do you think we’ll win?” he demanded.

“Do you think we’re ready?” Jean shot back.

Eren leveled him with his green gaze, then smiled.  “Yeah, I think we are.”

Jean returned the smile, averting his eyes and turning his face slightly so that Eren wouldn’t find out what that expression did to him.

* * *

 

The time for their debate rolled around much too quickly, and Jean, despite being a quivering pile of nerves (although he was much better than Bertolt the literal puddle of sweat), quickly followed the others to the auditorium.

The moderator, an older student by his looks (although the bowl-cut was probably misleading), read the rules, made sure they knew how much time they would have, before inviting up the students that would make the initial arguments.

“Jaeger, you first,” Levi told Eren, who nodded while he stood up, face serious.

“Good skill,” Jean muttered to him while he slipped by, and subsequently flinched when Eren brushed his knee thanks to the narrow gap between rows of chairs.

“Thanks,” Eren replied quietly.

“The topic is:  The United States should end their involvement in the United Nations.”

The other school sent up a tall blonde with soft eyes and massive sideburns, and Eren tore him up easily.  His argument was concise, consistent, and convincing (or the three C’s, as Levi liked to remind them), and Jean found himself grinning hopefully as the opponent made his rebuttal.

The moderator called time, and Levi nodded at Jean as Eren made his way back to his seat.  His rival-made-teammate nudged him in the shoulder as he walked to the stage.  “Kick their ass,” he commanded.

“I plan on it,” Jean said, his lips curving up in a slight smile even as he kept his expression somber.

Three minutes later, Eren grabbed his arm, fingers digging painfully (and undeniably nicely) into his skin.  “You fucking kicked their ass.”

“I told you I would,” Jean replied, trying to smile, but it was just too difficult with Eren standing _right there_ looking at him _like that_ , and it would be so easy to ki—

“Leonhart, you take the closing argument.”

Eren immediately let go of him and moved aside to allow Annie to get through before returning to his seat.  Jean followed him, disappointed that the moment had passed, but then again, maybe he could recapture it. . .

He was feeling good, after all, high off of a victory that hadn’t happened yet, even as Annie wrapped up her perpetually-dispassionate remarks for funding the United Nations.  And when the moderator concluded the debate and dismissed them, a plan began forming in Jean’s mind.

After their team sequestered itself once more in its designated classroom, Jean pulled Eren aside to talk to him.  He hadn’t been intending to confess his feelings so soon, but the debate and its success convinced him that there was no time like the present.

“Uh, Eren,” he started, unable to quell his nerves properly and struggling to capture the feeling of their earlier moment.  His palms were already soaked, and his heart felt like it wanted to take flight and ditch him.

“Yeah?” Eren said, looking at him curiously with his pretty green eyes between thick black lashes and why did he have to stare up at him like that _again_ —

“We’re like, um, like gases,” Jean said, and when Eren’s eyes widened as he quirked an eyebrow, managing to appear both confused and shocked at the same time, he almost passed out.  “I mean,” he continued, clearing his throat, “that you’re a sort of, uh, ideal gas, and I’m a real gas.”

He was suddenly conscious of everyone’s eyes on the two of them.  Annie stood just a few feet behind Eren, gaze mostly fixed on the floor, except when she flicked it up to scrutinize him.  Mikasa, Armin, and Bertolt sat in desks at the front of the room, seated near Levi, but even all of them, _including_ Levi, were half-turned to see the development between Jean and Eren.

Somehow, he was encouraged – and undeniably nervous – thanks to their attention.  He plowed on more confidently, “You’re an ideal gas, and I’m a real gas, because at first, we look the same, but we’re not.  If someone puts pressure on us, we behave differently, which I guess is why we didn’t used to get along. . .”  He trailed off, a wave of anxiety almost submerging, and rubbed his neck.

“Get on with it, Kirstein,” Levi quietly egged him on from the other side of the room.  “Prove your point.  Round out your argument.”

Eren nodded slightly at him, flashing him a grin, for which Jean was grateful as he added, “And you need different formulas to, uh, _solve_ us.”

Eren laughed lightly, and Jean found himself smiling at the shorter boy.  Then, he asked, “Is that all?”

“Is what all?” Jean retorted, suddenly a little perplexed himself.

“Are you gonna say it?  I think you just made an analogy on how we’re _different_ , not on how you, I don’t know, _like_ me.”

“You’re making assumptions,” Jean snorted petulantly.

“It’s a correct one though, yeah?” Eren pressed, his smile turning shy as he peered up at him.

Jean nodded curtly as his face flushed an undoubtedly unattractive shade of red, and he just grew warmer when Eren flung his arms around his neck and buried his nose in the collar of his shirt _in front of everyone._ “I take it that you, um, like me too?” he muttered into an ear that was both comfortably and uncomfortably close to his mouth.  He arranged his own arms around the other boy’s waist.

He felt rather than saw Eren nod.  Then, the other boy looked up, their faces close enough that their noses almost touched.  “But uh, Jean?” he said quietly.

“Hmm?”  He tried not to be distracted by the feeling of Eren’s words against his skin.

“Ideal gases don’t exist.”

“What’s your point?”

“Well, does that mean that _I_ don’t exist?”

Jean gave him the deadpan look he usually only reserved for those that said something incredibly stupid to him.

“Just kiss already,” Annie mumbled from behind Eren.

“How do you know that you didn’t just interrupt one?” Eren demanded of her.

“Yeah, you’re not even looking at us,” Jean pointed out.

“Even if it helped us just now, it’s worse when they argue _together_ ,” he heard Armin complain to Mikasa.

“Because you guys kissing for the first time is going to last longer than just two seconds,” Annie explained, sounding bored.

“Why do you say that?” Eren said, turning his face away from Jean to look at Annie.

“You guys _just_ confessed that you like each other after keeping it in for months,” she continued logically.  “All those pent-up hormones are going to turn your innocent first kiss into a full-on make out session.”

Eren made quick eye contact with Jean, and to his surprise, his tan face was darkening with a rare blush.  “Uh, what do you think?” he wondered.

Jean, for once the collected one, quirked an eyebrow at him.  “I think she could be right,” he told him, nudging Eren’s arms with a shrug.

“Yeah, okay.”  He let go of Jean, extricated himself from his grasp, grabbed him by the wrist, and led him out of the classroom, and both of them, too focused on wherever their destination might be, ignored their teammates’ and teacher’s incredulous gazes.

“Where are we going?” Jean wondered, surprised at how steady his voice was.

“Somewhere quiet and secluded.”

“Wow, you’re taking Annie pretty seriously.”

“No,” Eren argued, “I’m taking _you_ seriously.  And, um, _taking_ you seriously.”

Jean opened and closed his mouth uselessly at that, already feeling his whole body heat up at Eren’s words.  Finally, he said, “I didn’t think you were so eager.”

“Me neither,” Eren admitted.

“But we’re _not_ doing that in a fucking school.”

“I know,” Eren said a little sheepishly.  “I meant, you know, some other time.”

“Wow, we haven’t even kissed and you’re already talking about having sex?”

“Shut up, Jean,” he hissed as he tugged him towards a custodial closet.

“A bit cliché, isn’t it?” Jean observed, raising an eyebrow at Eren, who shrugged as he opened the door and walked in, pulling him inside with him.

Eren wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck and planted his lips against his so quickly that he was dizzy from watching the motion.  So he closed his eyes, at least until he felt Eren withdrawing.

“What?” he said.

Eren looked at him and, face a little red even in the closet’s dim light, teased, “Well, we fixed the kissing part.”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Jean complained.  “That was barely a peck.  We could’ve done that in front of everyone in this school and they would’ve just debated outlawing PDA.”

Eren rolled his eyes but retorted cheerfully, “All right th”—

Jean, sick of talking and just wanting to stick his tongue in someone’s – specifically Eren’s – mouth, took the initiative and kissed him, maybe with unnecessary force when he sensed his initial, and distinctly unusual, hesitation.

That didn’t last long.

Eren quickly took charge, using his body to push Jean against a bare spot of wall while knocking over a few mops and brooms in the process.  He inhaled sharply through his nose at the impact, but otherwise didn’t react, except maybe to shiver at the sensation of having someone else’s fingers comb through his hair.

Teeth nipped at his bottom lip, and when Jean opened his mouth to gasp, Eren seized the opportunity to slip his tongue into the other’s mouth while Jean tried to tug him closer, which was impossible.

His hands at the other boy’s waist, he realized that Eren’s shirt had come untucked at some point and slowly, cautiously, slipped his fingertips under the hem, rubbing the hot skin right above his hip bone.

Eren shuddered at the touch, and feeling the motion against him made Jean want to explore further, at least until Eren separated their lips and eyed him.  They breathed hard, at the same pace.  “What are you doing?” Eren demanded.

“Uh. . .”  Jean hadn’t realized that maybe he’d made a mistake.

“Not that I don’t like it, but are you _trying_ to make me hard, _in a fucking janitor’s closet_?”

“No,” he admitted, “but it’s a nice bonus.”

Eren punched him in the shoulder.

“Hey!  I thought we were supposed to be making out!”

“We are, but try to keep it at _just_ making out!”

Jean rolled his eyes but withdrew his hand, conceding Eren’s point.  “Yeah, fine, just keep kissing me, okay?”

“Nah,” Eren scoffed sarcastically right before he captured Jean’s lips with his own again.

They continued in much the same way, one of them stopping the other to say he was _getting too close to “that”._   Eren kept running his fingers through Jean’s hair, continuously making him sigh and shiver, and Jean ran his hands up and down Eren’s sides while he leaned more and more heavily against him.

When Eren tugged, almost painfully, at his hair, Jean gasped against his lips, “Too much.”

He felt Eren’s smirk, as if he was taking mental notes on how best to arouse him, which Jean realized was not such a bad idea, but it was _difficult_ , especially since Eren was remarkably silent.

When they next paused for breath, he commented between gulps of air, “You’re really fucking quiet.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” Eren retorted without missing a beat.

“Oh my God you’re so immature,” Jean told him, poking him in the cheek.

“Well maybe you’re just loud,” Eren pointed out without contradicting him on his maturity level.

“I’m trying to figure out what you like, but you’re just making it hard!”

Eren started laughing, letting go of him and backing away to bend over in giggles.

It dawned on Jean what he said, so he rolled his eyes and muttered once more, “So fucking immature.”

When Eren caught his breath, this time denied it from uproarious laughter, he stood upright in front of Jean, who still leaned against the wall.  “I like that thing you did earlier, touching me here.”  He pointed to his side, which his now-crooked shirt covered unfortunately well.

“Yeah, but who wouldn’t?” Jean pointed out.

“Okay, fair point,” Eren conceded, then hesitated before saying, a little awkwardly as if _he_ hadn’t been the one choking on air just a moment ago, “Don’t laugh, but I like pickup lines.”

Jean, too surprised to consider even cracking a grin, raised an eyebrow.  “Like, in general?”

"Eh,” Eren said, waving a hand.  “Specifically, chemistry pickup lines.”

“Oh my God,” Jean gasped for the second time.

“And they have to be _clever_ ,” Eren emphasized, grabbing Jean’s hand and pressing their fingers together.

He looked down at the contact, surprised by how tender it was.  He smiled.  “Did you like my ideal gas analogy?” he wondered quietly.

“Fuck yeah I did,” Eren said enthusiastically, “even if it wasn’t a come-on.”

“I can do those,” Jean claimed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh really?” Eren challenged as he once more pressed himself against Jean.  “Try me.”

He touched his forehead to the shorter boy’s.  “We react like potassium and water:  explosively.”

Eren’s expression became contemplative, but then he frowned.  “Needs some work,” he said, which made Jean scowl, “but it’s a good start.”

“Well fuck you,” Jean mumbled irritably.

“I’ll let you someday.”

Jean grimaced at Eren’s candidness, but he couldn’t help the way his lips pulled up slightly in a smile.

“So when did you realize you like me?” Eren wondered, bumping his nose against the taller boy’s.

The reply came easily to Jean:  “When I saw how passionate you were about that one debate topic.”  He didn’t say which one, knowing Eren would know exactly what he was talking about.  “It wasn’t the topic though,” he quickly backtracked at his skeptical expression.  “It was how emotional you were about it.  Like, you always put everything into what you do, and I’ve always been kind of jealous of that since I don’t have any enthusiasm for anything really, but that time in particular I realized that it wasn’t just envy.”

“And are you still, uh, green?” Eren asked, the slightest hint of concern entering his voice.

“No more than your eyes,” Jean said, allowing his tone to melt into softness.

Eren’s fingers tightened against his wrist.  “That’s really. . .”

“Corny?”  Jean’s face felt flushed with embarrassment once more.

“Yeah.”  Eren grinned.  “But I kind of like it.”  He tilted his head back and touched his lips against Jean’s again.

They moved a little slower this time, their quiet moment diminishing their desperation, if not their eagerness, and things were starting to heat up again when Jean heard the door swing open with volcanic force.

Jean had no idea _how_ Mikasa knew where to find them, but she did, not even blinking at their disheveled hair, rearranged shirts, red faces, and swollen lips.  She simply pulled Eren away from Jean and led the way to the auditorium for the awards ceremony, although she flashed a slight smile at them when her eyes fell on their joined hands.

Eren didn’t let go for a long time, not even when they lifted up the winner’s trophy together with the rest of the team, not even when they got funny looks from students on different teams, and not once on the whole car ride home.  Sure, they fell into uncomfortable thumb wars every once in a while, and Jean was sure that he might’ve accidentally twisted Eren’s wrist at some point, but they stubbornly held on, only letting go when Eren climbed into his car, and even then only after a particularly lengthy kiss and an impatient Mikasa honking the horn.

“Uh, so, um. . .” Eren said, and Jean found his sudden nervousness endearing and gratifying at the same time.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

Eren grinned at him.  “You want to go on an actual date tomorrow?”

Jean blinked at him, surprised for a second, then asked, “So Dairy Queen didn’t count?”

“Hell no DQ didn’t count,” Eren replied, rolling his eyes.

Jean returned his smile.  “Then fuck yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Eren is becoming self-aware. . . Muahaha. (jk Eren, you're totally real.)
> 
> I apologize for the ending cheesiness. Also, I got a little carried away when writing the closet scene. . . Obviously.
> 
> Comments and concrit are more than welcome. =] (Especially since writing Eren is always a challenge.)
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr (and give me advice on how to link in notes): stereotypedebunker.tumblr.com


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